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Casey’s expression softened. “No, dearheart. He threatened you. He threatened Home. Even if he’d stood a ghost of a chance with me before—which he didn’t—the little chat I had with him this morning would have ensured that I booted him to the curb.”
“He told me he always gets what he wants.”
“Yeah, he told me that too.” Casey grinned. “Guess he’ll have to drown his sorrows in Evian, because he’s not getting his way this time.” He scrambled out of Dev’s lap. “Come on.”
Dev took Casey’s offered hand and stood. “Where?”
“Not far. Just outside.”
Dev let Casey lead him out of the office. The picnic basket still sat on the vestibule floor, but it contained more than the remains of their meal. Randolph Scott was parked on top of the gingham cloth, his paws tucked under him and his eyes closed.
Casey paused, looking down at the cat. “Did you let him in?”
“No.”
“Then how does he get in here?”
Dev shrugged. “Randolph Scott writes his own rules. I’m sure even if I found his means of egress and blocked it, he’d find another way in.”
“Remind me to chat with you later about childproof locks on everything in my bedroom.” He pushed open the screen door and dragged Dev across the porch, down the steps, and across the driveway onto the lawn. He dropped Dev’s hand and spread his arms, turning in a circle. “Look around, Dev. What do you see?”
Dev frowned. “Same stuff I always see. A house that needs a coat of paint. Oaks that are gonna drop a shit-ton of leaves in a few months. Lilacs in dire need of a trim.”
“No, silly. You’re seeing the trees. Maybe even the bark and the leaves. Look at the forest.”
“Casey, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He planted his hands on his hips and gazed up at Dev, his expression fond but exasperated. “They say familiarity breeds contempt, but really, Dev. You’ve let saving Home blind you to the reasons it deserves saving.”
“Are you kidding? I know why it needs saving. The people. The legacy. The community.”
“Yes, all those things. But you’re missing something that it has in abundance. Charm. It’s a completely charming, quirky little New England town that doesn’t have a strip mall or billboard anywhere in sight.”
“Billboards are illegal in Vermont, anyway.”
Casey glared at him. “Good to know, but will you please listen? You’re so used to Home that you don’t see how truly remarkable it is anymore, but I guarantee you Bradley didn’t miss it. That’s what he wants to exploit.” His expression darkened. “And if we let that happen, he’ll destroy the whole reason he wanted it in the first place, because Bradley may have a kinky side that he keeps hidden behind his preppy blazers, but it’s like his life’s goal is to mash down anything odd or different or interesting. Homogenize it until each item in his portfolio looks exactly like all the others, decked out in high-end Pillsbury sameness.”
Dev nodded slowly. “You know, when he was talking about buying Harrison House, he harped on things that had to change.”
Casey tapped his fingers on Dev’s chest. “Exactly. And what makes Home so lovely is that it celebrates differences. Nobody who lives here is expected to change to meet some arbitrary yardstick of acceptability.” He smiled up at Dev. “Only to be their own unique selves. Only to be happy. Only to belong.”
“Okay, I get that. But what has that got to do with—”
“I know how to solve the Port-a-Potty problem,” Casey blurted.
A tiny sprout of hope poked through Dev’s misery. “You got the company to cancel the order?”
“Are you kidding? I’d be tempted to hold on to them and follow up on your art installation idea just so Bradley will have to hire them from Paramus or somewhere”—his grin turned mischievous—“because if it worked for the world’s biggest ball of twine or biggest prairie dog, why not? But no. My thought is to put them to their original use. In fact, we might actually need more.”
“By turning Home into a temporary rest stop between Hartford and Burlington? We’re not exactly on the main route.”
He shook his head, eyes sparkling. “By holding another event.”
Dev’s hope died like he’d spritzed it with weed killer. “How? The resort’s cornered the market on antique vendors, and Curiosity will hardly draw enough tourist traffic to justify one Port-a-Potty, let alone two dozen.”
Casey waved Dev’s words away. “Not another antique fair. Not an instead-of event, because we don’t want to punish the vendors. They’re our friends and they’re just trying to make a living, the same as we are.”
Again, Casey’s use of we sent a spike of joy coupled with despair spiraling through Dev’s middle. He cleared his throat to dislodge its lump. “Then what?”
